


Straight On Till Morning

by PurpleMoon3



Series: Thor Kinkmeme [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 'specially trickster gods, Alternate Realities, Babies, Community: norsekink, Dubious Morality, F/M, Gods write their own destiny, Loki Needs a Hug, Lokifeels all over, Non-Graphic Smut, Self-cest, So Loki gives Loki a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMoon3/pseuds/PurpleMoon3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Goddess of Mischief decides Asgard is a lost cause, she finds a shiny-new World Destroyer falling in the Void between Worlds.  Who else can Loki trust but another Loki, a King that is young and powerful and impressionable?  </p><p>Welcome to the Kingdom of Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original [Prompt:](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/6420.html?thread=11833620#t11833620)
> 
> Lady Loki and Loki settle down to raise Little Loki. Doctor Doom babysits.
> 
> \---
> 
> As you can probably tell I took this prompt, clutched it to my bosom, and ran away into the sunset cackling.

It starts, as these things tend to do, with Loki. _Lady_ Loki, actually, who stands in her room in a stolen body and feels despair as she touches every bruise, every cut, every wound made by gods that did not deserve the name.  
  
She finds it heartbreakingly hilarious that no one, not even Thor, recognize the face she wears. Years battling beside it, learning the scars, and all it takes is a different stance and tiara of horns for Asgard to forget one of their number and shift the blame. It isn't her body. Not the body she spent years, _lifetimes_ ensorcelling with protective enchantments and healing spells. Her throat is so vulnerable, now, if one was to rend head from shoulders there would be no reattachment.  
  
Thor's hand wrapped so easily around it, squeezing, as careless of her comfort as they had once been of Baldur's.  
  
For the first time, Loki inhabits a truly Aesir body... and finds it weak.  
  
Lady Loki had intended, eventually, to give this body back once it had served its purpose. Reflected in the mirror, she can see the bruises necklacing like hurtful kisses. She has changed, and yet they treat her the same. They call her prince -princess, now- yet strike at her as if she were but a lowly, _clumsy_ servant when the fancy takes. Asgard is stagnant like pond water, wretched and foul with decomposing gases and hungry parasites.  
  
Loki smashes the mirror with what once was Sif's, and stares shocked at the shards. So many warped Lokis are staring back at her.  
  
It gives her an idea.  
  
Whirling, Loki begins to pack. She packs light, a few changes of clothes go into a dimensional pocket while she swaps out the trinkets in her hair for those of a more practical, magical, variety. She will not allow herself to be dragged back into this unending cycle of entropy that Asgard has resigned itself too. She will take this body, smooth out the scars and the wrinkles and warrior's callouses, and work it anew. Let Sif rot in her mortal shell. Let her own, former, frozen body sleep away the cycles until it rests separate and alone free from the lockstep of Ragnarok. There is no one in Asgard worthy of her care or devotion.  
  
No one but herself.

* * *

It is commonly called the Nexus by Midgardian Minds, and it is the place where all Worlds intersect. Worlds, mind, not realms. There are worlds where Loki was never born (few and far between) and worlds where Thor eats the flesh of man and rules the earth in a barbarian grip. For every possibility with even the slightest chance to exist there is a world where it came to pass.  
  
But the odds have always been stacked against Loki, and so the worlds where Loki is happy and whole are so, so very disproportionate in number compared to all others. They are cherished worlds, unsoiled, and so Loki avoids them as she flits past numerous Sorcerers Supreme, Gatekeepers, Watchers, and slumbering Ancient Ones. She searches for a world that isn't perfect, but doesn't have so much deep-seated resentment that will make it all but impossible to establish herself and hide among the populace.  
  
Impossibly fast, Loki finds it. Or, rather, it finds her.

He is young, not nearly as scarred as herself but with a soul weeping from fresh, deep wounds just ripe for infection. It would be easy, she thinks, to take this all but untouched bit of herself and poison it against Thor. Against Asgard. Against everyone and everything and bring them To. Their. Knees.  
  
But he is herself, and his eyes are wide and unseeing in this Void they are both falling through, his arms latching around her waist like it is a lifeline, and Loki once swore that if no one stood for her she would do it doubly. Odin fought for Asgard. Thor fought for Midgard. Loki fought for Loki.  
  
She wraps her own arms around him and touches his forehead playfully with her own horns, delicate but deadly things that they are, and guides them both out following the path his fall made back to his home World.

* * *

"I was king." He whispers, shock and fear beginning to transmute into anger and loathing. Loki approves. They have always been resilient, and she is working on getting the body that once belonged to Sif up to snuff. "I was king... rightfully king, and yet when they commit treason _I_ am called the traitor."  
  
She leans back into the cool leather of their couch and looks out at the New York skyline. This world is on a different timeline. Events have progressed slower, key characters she remembers only just now gaining their feet, a world and realm untouched and by a cycle that is still so fresh. This earth is not filled with costumed heroes and dramatic, comedic villains. But it will be. She can feel the inherent potential singing through her soul.  
  
But the rent is cheap in the Baxter Building, and the neighbors few, and if -when- Thor deigns to grace this realm with his presence he will not bother overmuch with this little corner of it. But Doom will come, if he yet lives, and the mage had always carried with him the promise of entertainment. They will need that if she intends to pull a life from these bitter ashes that drift in her otherself's, and her own, wake.  
  
"I have to admit I never actually went for the destruction of an _entire_ planet. You're quite industrious." She compliments while biting into her parfait.  
  
He stares at her, and the wall comes down bit by bit. Soon he's clutching at his own face and laughing, tears streaming down his eyes, but at least it's something. It is _something_ and there is no blood. No scars on his lips like there had been on hers, once a upon a time. Just a gutted soul, but those are healing and they will be all the stronger for it.  
  
They are Loki.

* * *

  
Where there is one there are others. Since she left behind those that would have been her minders, Loki is starting to find herself drawn to herself like files to a magnet. He is gone, at a library, curious to catch-up with what had changed on Midgard other than fashion and food. Basic human rights and Geneva Conventions are all rather unheard of in a realm where the King's Word (unless it is Loki's) is the only Law. Midgard is deliciously chaotic, and they can spend hours watching the scandalized television reporters discuss all the horrid things that the gods remember as commonplace only a few short decades ago.  
  
They also watch movies. He is rather fond of the _Saw_ series, and while she can see its charms Loki prefers Musicals. She isn't sure why. Perhaps it is some remnant quirk of her female form?

Loki is watching _Little Shop of Horrors_ when she feels something not unlike a warm breath run along her spine. She had traveled the space-between worlds for a long time, practically lived in it while searching for this one, and now something was traveling through it. She wondered if it was another Loki, a Loki like herself who looked around and washed her hands of it all. Leaving her sundae on the table, she headed to the bathroom and the expanded bathtub filled with flickering, magical water. A whisper and she plunged through the thin membrane of realities into the Void, searching out the thread of a recent passage.  
  
There.  
  
Loki took it between her nimble fingers, gathering up the trail that criss-crossed the Nexus and spiraled out to false leads and traps. It was really very good. Some parts folded in on themselves, becoming all but invisible, and if Loki was not Loki and the one who made the path was not Loki she would likely not have seen it. Smiling, Loki closed in on the door of bubbling magic and swam into another world to congratulate herself on a job well done (someone should).  
  
He was even younger than the self that had been falling through the Void. He was but a babe, unblemished and beautiful and yet-  
  
"I WILL BREAK YOUR TRICKSTER'S NECK!" Thor yelled, drawing his hammer and squeezing at the fragile, tenuous spot of vulnerability.  
  
Thor so did enjoy going for Loki's throat. But they were a _child_ , and it was no illusion. No bending of shape.  
  
" _THE SEED_ YOU LYING LITTLE-"

Loki snarled, drawing Sif's attention, and an expertly aimed blast of concussive heat slammed into Thor tossing her child-self from his choking grasp. She summoned a blade from the ether and parried Sif's strike, kicking woman warrior in the chest and running for the stunned child only to scoop him into her arms. She paid no mind to the black and white bird that zipped past her face, latching small talons into her hair, and Lady Loki dived headfirst back into the Void carrying a crying child.  
  
"I saved everybody." He sobbed, voice a sore croak. "Even though they all hate me... even _Thor_ hates me..."  
  
Lady Loki has the sudden urge to blow something up. Maybe a planet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it gets confusing with all the Loki being Loki, but they'll come up with some new names.

They've rented an entire floor, remodeled to their tastes and broken down walls, and so it is easy to install their youngest self in a room of his own. The magpie follows the dazed boy with one of Loki's own ornaments clutched in its feet, eyeing herself and himself with an intelligence that belies its identity, and Loki cannot find any fault in it. She can always make a new focus, and that body must be terribly confining.  
  
Little Loki does not come out, though they do occasionally hear the sound of breaking pottery, and screaming, but mostly the dead silence of extreme despair that comes after all other energy has been spent crying at the unfairness of it all.  
  
It has been a long, long time since Loki has cried. She is old, and her childhood is washed gray and distant from the tears she long since learned were wasted. Not so for him, and it is with a small amount of wonder that Loki watches and follows as Loki magics the door open and sweeps into the disaster area as though comforting small children is something he does everyday.  
  
She had not been very good with children. Perhaps because of her own messy childhood, or perhaps because so few of them were accepted and she sought to distance herself from them… He would have made a good father though. Harsh but fair, and patient.  
  
Loki does not hold Loki. Loki merely crouches down and begins wiping salty tears from their face.  
  
"He promised." The little one sniffles, green eyes bloodshot. "But he lied. They all hate me... am I really so-?"  
  
"No." Loki's answer is sharp, cleaving through any arguments like a butcher's blade. "We are Loki. We are only what we choose to be."  
  
The bird laughs, a ghost of memory and magic and cackles with a fluttering of madness. "Ikol..." The boy trails off tiredly, admonishing his familiar, his other self.  
  
The Lady steps around a shattered vase, the wet spot on the carpet, and holds out her hand in invitation. The magpie settles on her finger as she strokes its feathers in thought, wondering what series of events occurred to make her so desperate as to split her magic and memories into so many pieces. Yet, it is not so dissimilar to what she has done, to what she is building. He could have erased the memories entirely if that was what he wanted.  
  
"Loki is Loki." She states, eyes wandering the ruined room as she makes a mental note to call a maid service. "And only Loki has ever loved or cared for Loki. Does your own experience not hold this to be true?" She holds out the magpie, another Loki and his own self, as evidence.  
  
Little Loki's head bows to her wisdom, and it hurts her to see herself in such pain, but it must be done. Lance the boil now before it festers and becomes some mad thing that strikes without rhyme or reason. Loki scoots closer to the boy and gently wraps an arm around him, silent but _there_ in a way no one else would be, and within moments the child has fallen asleep.  
  
Loki carries him to their bed, the boy's is a mess beyond salvaging, and lies down beside him when delicate hands clutch at his shirt and whimpers escape the pinched mouth. The magpie finds a lamp to perch on as she removes her headdress and slides onto the silk sheets. They bracket the boy, protective, and she reaches out to stroke her other self's cheek as he gazes over tousled black hair and into her eyes.  
  
He is a king she would gladly follow, because he is herself, and he is beautiful.

Loki has never wanted the throne. The throne was a target, a beacon, and he would never want to the responsibility that goes with it. And even if he had trained with staves over swords, perhaps some subconscious preparation for Gungnir's shaft, the second prince's reign was always destined to be a short one.  
  
The Odinforce can only transfer to those that carry Odin's blood, and that is not Loki.  
  
(It could have been, if Thor and he were truly brothers, if Odin had told them when they were yet young and optimistic Thor would have cut their palms and pressed them together in a binding that would have lasted forever. They've seen it.)  
  
It would have been kinder to tell him what he was straight off instead of dangling a kingship before his nose- but Loki _was_ a king. Once the crown was placed, the spear wielded, you were a king. He had been recognized by all -even Sif and the Snakes Three- and as the Midgardian children would say: _no take backs_.  
  
But crowns, thrones, and scepters do not make a king. Children may play pretend in royal robes and crowns can just as easily be stolen or reforged. They are merely trappings, decorations, for those that are too blind to see inherent ability.  
  
(Thor would have taken Gungnir, would have raised it beside Mjolnir and led all of Asgard into misery and death and they would have happily followed, like the mice with their piper, dissent squashed under the weight of an earnest smile and a golden throne.)  
  
So, in this kingdom of blood and bone he will rule himself, and protect his subjects with all the ferocity of a mother bear guarding her cubs with the cold determination that drove him to lay waste to an entire world.  
  
He's heard the rumors carried on the wind. She smiles just for him and whispers with approval _Loki Planet-Breaker_ while nipping at his ear, the child slumbering in the safety of their embrace.

* * *

The nice thing about living in the Baxter Building, aside from the privacy and location, is that they can blame everything on the Four that inhabit the top floors. It isn't a very nice thing to do, but they are gods (and goddess) of mischief and they wouldn't be Loki if they didn't cause some strife. Reed Richards brings it on himself, Loki thinks, what with all the experiments the mortal performs with unstable molecules and punching holes into the Nexus which he renames the Negative Zone.  
  
And if the bleed off of worked magic, the existence of which most of Midgard still refuses to acknowledge, is lost in the harmless background radiation and traces of cosmic energy that flow over the building like water from a fall so much the better.  
  
Lady Loki teaches their younger self the finer points of transformation, and if the lesson gets a little out of control and releases a rain of technicolor rabbits that begin chewing through wiring and brick alike? Clearly Mr. Richards' cloning chamber went a little wonky. One has to expect these things when pioneering a new field. All the sprinkler systems in the building went off at once? Mr. Storm must have been having a nightmare, better get those monitors fine-tuned. There's an invisible barrier preventing use of the elevator?  
  
...that one was actually an accident, and none of them is quite sure how it happened. Not that the inconvenience bothered them much. Teleportation is handy like that.

"Good evening, Miss Lois!" Johnny Storm offers cheerfully as the manservant holds the door for him. Loki arches and eyebrow and pretends not to notice how his eyes linger a few seconds more than necessary on her cleavage. Loki doesn't bother pretending, and though he looks nothing like the prince he is when dressed in a dark green sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and worker's jeans he pulls off righteously offended very well.  
  
The boy zips between them and stomps down on the Human Torch's foot and the man yelps in response, reeling back and cradling his instep. "I've heard about _you_."  
  
"Luke!" Loki calls, partly warmed and partly exasperated. "I do not need you to defend my honor."  
  
Loki looks mutinous and surly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and glaring threats at the retreating, and cursing, Fire Lord.  
  
She places a hand on his shoulder and guides him out, offering a smile and a nod to the doorman who smiles back and sketches a surprisingly formal bow. "I do not need you defend my honor, sweetling, but I thank you for it. It has been a long time."

* * *

The Lady and the bird are more alike in their thinking than either would care for and it is both gratifying and somewhat worrisome to have someone who can appreciate a finely crafted plan.  
  
"You gave up." Lady Loki accuses Ikol, ruby lips like cherries as she walks along the park, the magpie winging through the air above her. It is autumn now, and the leaves fall like a carpet of rust and gold at her feet. The occasional jogger passes by but notices nothing out of the ordinary with their ears plugged by music and their eyes sliding over the simplest of spells.  
  
"I had achieved my life's goal." Ikol answers sullen as he swoops down. "And yet I found myself trapped. There was nothing else to be done."  
  
"Excuses." Loki sniffs and raises her chin with far more poise and haughtiness than Sif, ever a warrior, ever managed. "You still love Asgard."  
  
" _No._ "  
  
"I may be god of lies, but we are not that good." She drawls, and though there is a practiced mocking in her tone her eyes glitter with the weariness of understanding. It is both a blessing and curse.


	3. Chapter 3

She'd once had the ear of Kings, and still did, in a way. Hailed as the Lie-Smith, the God of Mischief, Prince of Chaos, and most recently _Evil_ yet they listened to her. Compared to Odin's cruel gaze -taking, never thanking- and Baldur's, well, _Baldur~ness_ infiltrating Midgard's most exclusive of military forces was... not cake. More like pie. Perhaps. Simple to make but with a gooey center of flavors that was remarkably complicated. In a good way. The Lady traveled through reflections, stepping through mirrors and glass and peered through shining, alert eyes. She listened, the fly on the wall, and learned the most _interesting_ of secrets.  
  
Loki's camouflage consisted of a nondescript gray suit cut to accentuate her curves. Her magic easily tricked the electronic lock, zipping through the circuits and opening the thick, steel door with a hiss. Loki allowed herself a smug smirk, hips swaying suggestively as her high heels clicked against the floor. There was a quiet rustle on the edge of her hearing, but she dismissed it. The underground portions of the facility were dark, dank, and very dungeon like. Probably a mouse.   
  
It was a pity her other self was busy with _aggressive negotiatons_ and unable to join her on this little quest of curiosity.   
  
"Hello, Beautiful." Suspended in a metal harness was a faintly glowing blue box. It wasn't the Casket, though the coloring was similar, and it gave off a faint hum of waking energy the closer she came. The Tessaract, as the Midgardian's called it, though in her World it had been known as the Cosmic Cube. The Jewel of Odin's Treasure Room. "What _are_ you doing here?"   
  
"Funny." Loki withdrew her hand from the pulsing artifact just before an arrow impaled it. She traced the flight path and narrowed her eyes at the lone mortal standing high among the rafters. Already he had another arrow notched and pointed at her heart. "I was going to ask you the same thing."  
  
His voice was rougher, his clothing not nearly as garish, and the strong line of his chin was somewhat admirable, but it still took a moment for the Lady to process. She was simply so used to the man being _covered_ in purple. Honestly. At least the Widow's battledress fit her namesake somewhat. Loki had never heard of a purple hawk.   
  
Loki turned away from the Cube, sizing up the would-be Avenger. He looked good, like a warrior, with a rare calm and patience so useful to snipers. He was no lost puppy, but she had the sudden inexplicable maternal need to drag him home with her. He had _heart,_ and she wanted it _._  
  
"You aren't authorized to be here, Miss."   
  
"Technically," Loki smiled. She'd gotten the information she wanted, and as tempting as the Cube and the Hawk were she had other plans. Maybe later. "And while I hate to cut this little rendezvous short; I'm already spoken for."  
  
The look on his face as she blew him a kiss and dissolved into so much dust was priceless.

* * *

Asgard is not in Oklahoma. This is both good to hear, for it means that Asgard -Dad's Asgard- hasn't experienced the End that was Not, and hasn't needed Thor to bring it back. It is also disheartening, because it means Loki -Luke, as he has chosen for himself- can't get on a plane and go home.  
  
Or not-home, where his not-brother is, because he was _never_ welcomed there, Odin's little war-hostage foundling, but not like Freya or Freyr who were given their own kingdoms to rule. Loki is Loki is Loki and... _this_ world is his home now.   
  
Home. Such a strange concept. He'd always thought of home as a place you fit but didn't belong. In Jotunheim, Laufey's runty get, he'd been tolerated. Barely. His talent at sorcery had been the only thing to save him until Odin rode in with his soldiers and took him away. It had been good, for a while, and Thor _had_ been welcoming that first time around. But then Thor was welcoming to everyone. Thor called everyone brother, be it brothers-in-arms or brothers-in-cups or brothers-of-the-Hammer, but Loki was the only one with the distinct title of _Half-_ brother.   
  
How could he have forgotten the eyes? Eyes that were warm and radiant when falling on the golden prince but as cold and dismissive as those Loki had been reared by in Jotunheim when landing on the trickster prince.   
  
Loki wondered how much he had forgotten in his death, and how much was still stored away in Ikol.  
  
"I would like to state, for the record, that I think this is a piss-poor idea. We were asked to _avoid_ drawing attention to ourselves." The magpie bristled, feathers fluffing as it eyed the chalk marks Loki labored over. The design resembled something similar to an abstract artist's interpretation of a hop-scotch grid.   
  
Loki rocked back on his heels, wiping his hands on his fashionably torn jeans, and reached into his pocket for the smoothed bit of brick that had once been part of _his_ Asgard. "And if all goes as planned we _won't_ be drawing attention to ourselves."  
  
"I will remind you that the assistance I can provide is rather limited- and Leah is not here to lend her skills, either. If she even exists in this reality. And if we get caught-"  
  
Being reminded of Leah stung. She wasn't the _nicest_ BFF he'd ever had, but then she was the first. And she didn't, didn't _laugh_ at him. She helped, if grudgingly, though even Ikol had begun to notice she complained less and less, and once almost cracked a smile. "We're going, Ikol. I want to say thank you, and we aren't getting Mom or Dad anything less than the best!"  
  
And the best, as he couldn't go to the Dwarves and commission something, meant _shopping_ in Asgard.   
  
An underhand toss sent the bit of brick into the grid -there were nine distinct spaces- and snapped with a twang in the air. His older selves could world-walk on their own, without rituals or bifrost, but Loki was little and his own reserves of magic were so stunted at the moment he'd probably get lost in a black hole if he tried. But a little thing like limits and laws of nature had never stopped him before.  
  
Energy buzzed as Loki guarded his own small reserves of power in favor of tapping into the earth's own energy. He drew on the ley lines, arteries of pulsing, invisible magic that connected Midgard to Yggdrasil and the rest of the realms, crossed his fingers, and jumped.  
  
His breath caught in his throat when he landed, for this Asgard was so different from the strong, ancient stonework he remembered. Loki, and Ikol even, had not expected it. Golden towers and shimmering spires. Polished streets that sparkled.   
  
Shaking his head, Loki flipped up his hood and sent Ikol to fly over the city that was the same but oh-so-different. He wanted to stay, wanted a Thor even if it wasn't _his_ Thor -and his throat throbbed painful reminder- but it wasn't his home. Couldn't be his home.   
  
He already had one.  
  
Loki's lips twisted into a mischievous grin as he plodded along the shadows.

* * *

"And this is...?" Her king trails off as their new family member stalks over the kitchen counter, licking up the flecks of blood that have crusted on Loki's fingers.   
  
She smiles warmly and goes back to stirring the brownie batter. She's had a craving for chocolate lately and after her little slip-up in the SHIELD facility staying inside seems the wisest course of action. That, and she has been wanting to brush up on culinary skills that extend beyond magic potions. The sweets are also less likely to explode and rip a hole in the time-space continuum.  
  
"I call him Lo-kitty." The Lady explained as she poured the batter into the pans. The midnight black feline continued to delicately lick at the man's fingers, combed tongue tickling. "He's one of us."  
  
Loki let out a breath of disbelief and scratched the cat along his spine, frowning at the far too pronounced bones.   
  
"If it makes you feel any better," Lady Loki went on as she popped her pans in the oven. "The Thor of that reality is a beagle."  
  
"A bit small, but I suppose it fits."   
  
Loki wiped her hands on a conjured dish towel and sauntered over to her king, using the silk scarf at his neck to pull his head to her level. She kissed him, humming her pleasure as his hands came up to wrap around her and three sets of purrs echoed in the room. Pulling back, she touched his nose with a finger and slowly drew it to her neck and the intricate piece of linked metal and gems hanging from it.  
  
Loki blinked. "Isn't that Freya's?"  
  
"No." Loki smiled innocently. " _Loki's_. Was a present from Sweetness, I believe there is something waiting for you on our bed."  
  
He ran one of his hands through her hair, coming down to linger on the metal enchanted for protection and beauty, before letting out barking laughter as he whirled and ran down the hall like a kid on Christmas morning. When he reached their room a stillness fell, and Loki shared an uneasy glance with Lo-Kitty.   
  
It looked different. The Lady remembered a massive weapon of war, dark and heavy in its purpose, but as Loki returned with his face a blank mask she saw a tool that was regal and strangely delicate in his hands.   
  
"Oh, my." Ikol came winging from the spelling room and landed on Lo-kitty's head. The feline spared a brief glance at the magpie before going back to cleaning his paws. "I often wondered, if Thor was to be king, why he so often practiced war with sword and hammer rather than the Spear of Office.  
  
They had taken Gungnir, spirited it right out from under Asgard's nose. And, of course, Loki _had_ been king. Gungnir had been delivered to him once before. He'd used it in battle defending the realm. _Of course_ it accepted him back, even when no one else had. It was a weapon built for War and Magic. It _understood_.  
  
The room was full of pointed grins and flashing eyes, and laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

Transversing the realms was a simple matter once the initial path had been blazed by his reborn child-self. He may be little more than memory and shadows molded into life's semblance by will and untried magic, but he was still _a_ Loki. And the term Skywalker had never been more appropriate.   
  
Not that he would ever admit to it, but there was a certain exhilaration in the beat of wings, the burning work of sinew and muscle, the drop into free-fall and bending of feathers that caught the wind and lifted one to safety. He couldn't put it into words -a true failing for any Loki- but those moments of erratic, mad, risky flight were what he imagined true freedom to be. Unfettered by fate. Unburdened by expectations.  
  
With the Lady's trinket in his talons, a simple bauble used in focusing and storing energy, Ikol spreads his wings and nudges the gathered power.   
  
Traveling was more about finesse than pure power, anyways.   
  
He spied two ravens -great and black and oozing Odin's scent- winging the other way.  
  
They paid him little enough attention. Clever, for birds, but still mere birds with small bird hearts and bird brains. No imagination, whilst Ikol was so much more than pinion and down. Ikol couldn't grin in his current form, but he would have liked to. A silent shadow drifting over the gleaming and too-bright city, he went undetected even by Heimdall himself. _A bird is a bird, unless of course, its name was Mr. Ikol._  
  
Dark eyes twinkling, the magpie drifted over the castle wall and alighted on the branches of a stubborn, clinging tree. It was an excellent position for eavesdropping, acoustics and a bit of magic so slight it was undetectable funneling whispers and conjectures to his ears. Bad enough that the Lady Freya's necklace, as powerful and enchanting as the woman herself, was targeted by the mysterious thief -Such had happened before, but Heimdall's eyes had seen to its recovery.- but for _Gungnir_ to go missing as well? It was The Symbol of Asgard's king, as much as Mjolnir was the prince's, and was said to be layered and embuned with enchantments placed by Buri himself so that only the worthy may wield it. The spear would be nothing more than a fanciful walking staff to all else.  
  
In the courtyard below, Thor of Asgard and his Companions Four were engaged in a routing of the guards. Volstagg was as voluminous as ever, if a bit slimmer only because he had not the time to increase himself as other Volstagg's had. Fandral was Blonde. Hogun was missing his hat...? And Sif was not Sif, but a Sif, and that was enough for Ikol. The woman had always made her dislike of Loki clear, saw him as a roadblock to Thor's pants, and Loki had always been happy to return the sentiment.  Was it _his_ fault Thor only started paying attention to her once her golden locks matched the Trickster's?  
  
Ikol leapt off the branch.  
  
"UGH!" The Lady Sif screamed as she dodge away from her current engagement and scrabbled at her scalp.  
  
"Milady, what is wrong?" Fandral, ever the ready to sooth a maiden, called from his own whispered discussion of just who could have gotten past Asgard's defenses. Their usual suspect, and in actuality only suspect, was dead. A fact that was causing no small about of guilt and grief in the wake of the recent break-ins, thefts, and minor assaults.  
  
Sif snarled and Ikol cawed madly as he spiraled out of the way of a sword thrown with the accuracy of a javelin.  
  
"That twice-damned bird shat on my _hair_!"   
  
Petty revenge, yes, but Ikol was still but a bird. He had no thrones to win or hearts to change. No worlds to save.   
  
And Sif was so protective of her hair.

* * *

Loki, or Luke as was his chosen _nom de guerre_ , didn't go to school. This had both upsides and downsides, because while he wasn't to be forced into a primitive nursery with children centuries younger than he was... Luke was more often than not left at loose ends. He never felt unloved, unwanted, or underfoot, but the Lady and the Tiger -Or perhaps a panther, whichever beast, for when Loki King prowled back home from one of his excursions he looked not unlike a great cat, all sleek lines, coiled power... and a habitual need to groom himself. The comparison was especially glaring when Loki King and Lokitty perched on the couch, one in the other's lap, watching black-and-white episodes of _The Twilight Zone_.- had their own projects to attend to.   
  
When she wasn't teaching him how to best use and manipulate his own fledgling magics, his mom was either bustling around the kitchen, scrying in the bathtub, or purring into the phone and making the stock market dance. Dad was a whole other basket of apples. Luke wasn't _positive_ what his father was doing -He had spotted parchments bearing the official seal of Ruling House of Vanahiem, _and Loki's name_ , on Dad's study desk when he'd gone in to request a bedtime story that ended up being a lot more involved than he expected.- but he had a pretty good idea. He thought.   
  
He wished they would tell him. Then he could help. He _could_. He was Loki! Backdoor dirty-dealing politics was what they _did_.  
  
But dad just ruffled his hair indulgently, purloined spear propped against him like a too expensive walking staff, and told Luke, "You've already done so much, so well, I can't ask anything more of you."   
  
"Maybe I have," He sulked. There were no lessons scheduled today, leaving him free to roam as he pleased. Luke kicked a rusted, broken screw and watched it skip along the ground, rattling as it hit an empty barrel. "But I'm still bored. There aren't even any superhero battles tearing up the streets! One can only hack into Stark Industries so many times before it looses its appeal."  
  
Lokitty sniffed at what might, in a past life, have been a can of tuna.  
  
Luke didn't think about Leah, and this was the sort of time he'd wander away from his chores to her cave...   
  
So Lost in his reminiscing, Luke almost didn't notice the closeness of the sound of wheels on gritty cement, or the startled yowl of his companion, but he couldn't not notice the claws sinking into his flesh as the feline frantically scrabbled up his leg and a boy on a board blew past, a startled look on his face. Two went sprawling. Surprisingly, it wasn't the cat that landed on his feet.  
  
"Oh god... I'm really, really sorry about that. I didn't think anyone else was going to be here..." The boy as he ripped his ear buds out, looking down at Luke and the flustered Lokitty. "Are you okay?"  
  
Luke blinked and stood, dusting off his cargo shorts, and opened his mouth. "I don't want to seem too forward or anything, but did you know you're standing on the wall?"  
  
The boy chuckled nervously, turning his head away in reflexive embarrassment. His name was Peter.

* * *

The Lady had considered calling it quits. She had a brother-husband, and a brother-son, and other selves a plenty to keep her safe and loved. They were an established, yet hidden presence on earth, and with Gungnir now in hand Loki's position at the bargaining table was even stronger. Even if Odin huffed and puffed and knocked down their well-ensorcelled door to drag them off by the hair he _couldn't_. Not without calling several other factors into question, number one being the sovereignty of various other powerful nations and realms.  
  
And Asgard's position at the top of the dung heap depended on a very precautious balance, one that Lois knew from his actions -or more accurately _in_ actions- that the Borson was unwilling to upset.  
  
So why did her stomach twist? Why was it her heart thumped, and her hands could not be still if only for a moment? When she woke in the early morning to sunbeams on her lover-brother's sleeping face she should be _content_. She had been, before, a bare handful of times in the past. Happy and content with a spouse, hidden, children growing inside-around her. So why not now?  
  
Lois didn't know. She knew she loved Loki, she couldn't not love Loki, but there was something yet missing in their dynamic that screamed for attention.  
  
Perhaps it was simply her body. Her stupid, weak, Ás body throwing a wrench in the gears. Even when lying in a sickbed a hundred Worlds away, Sif was ever a gleeful thorn in her side. The wooden spoon she stirred the bathtub-turned-cauldron with creaked uneasily in her manicured hands as they squeezed down. "Damned foolish woman just can't take defeat gracefully. Can't admit that _I_ won. Me. Loki. It's mine now. _Mine._ "  
  
The wood splintered, drops of blood falling into the shimmering water, and Lois hissed as the bubbles frothed and the image swam into focus. A battle field. Creatures of all sorts littering the landscape.  
  
Asgard, then.  
  
And Thor. Ever it was Thor, forever young and golden, yet... bloody, in chains, eyes rolling. And herself. Old, bruised, splinters of bone pulling themselves back into place with the aid of magic, each breath accompanied by a spit of blood. But _Victorious_. Long fingers, warped with age -When had Loki stopped eating his apples? Was it his choice? Or had they been denied him? Some other magic at work?- gripped Thor's golden mane and tilted his head up to stare into dazed eyes. "I won, _brother_. It's mine now. Mine." His voice dropped into a whisper. "And no one can take it, take anything, from me again."  
  
There were methods, Lois knew, to beat Thor. To restrain him with magics and destroy him, but those were too easy. Too petty. But, on the same token, she also knew that Thor was the better physical fighter. He always had been. It was, simply, his gift.   
  
And yet, Loki beat him on his own battlefield.   
  
And yet, Loki was not happy. Any Loki could see that. They never wanted to rule -Except maybe Loki-King, but he was nine kinds of crazy and possessive as Hel.- and control over Asgard never ended well for _anyone_. All of the Ás Kings' reins were rife with struggle and war and, inevitably, betrayal and murder. Even, it seemed, Thor's.  
  
Lois rested her healing hands in her lap. She knew how stories went. Especially this kind.   
  
"It will not end well."   
  
She poured a blue vial of salts into the water, watched the scene crystallize, and rose. Skirts whirling, she marched down the hall. Perhaps this was what her family was missing.

A grandfather.


	5. Chapter 5

The skies above Latveria are the dreary gray of a slow brewing storm, but the lush green of Midgard's trees stand out all the more vibrantly for it. In this light, the leaves reflected the chosen colors of his erstwhile trickster more than that of their host's house. It had felt a little like running, at first, abandoning the fallen shell of their ancestral home to settle in the winding rooms of Latveria's dusted off castles, but Baldur could not fault the -somewhat grudging- graciousness of Latveria's King.  
  
There was a certain level of freedom in Latveria that was unavailable in Thor's preferred _Unified States_. Loki's suggestion had been much appreciated. The mortals in Latveria did not expect gods to come down to their level and live by their laws, nor fiddle about with committees or a _bureaucracy_. As in Asgard, the King's word was law and all were expected to live by that word.  
  
Speaking of the Sorcerer-King…. "Doom." Though Baldur would not call them _equals_ , Victor von Doom was a mortal albeit an ambitious one, they were both Kings. And Baldur was a guest in these lands; let it not be said that Asgardians made poor guests. He inclined his head politely. "I did not expect to see you so soon, in my experience matters of state can take some time."  
  
"It was not difficult. Delegation is one of the many perks of leadership. You mentioned concerns for Loki?"  
  
Baldur nodded and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "I have not seen my… sister… in several weeks. To speak plainly, this worries me." Doom was Loki's friend and ally -though it was strange to think the Trickster would claim any as such- before he was Baldur's. It was impossible to tell under the armor that the dictator wore like a second skin, but there was the air of an arched eyebrow. Baldur tapped his fingers against the sleeve of his chain mail. "We had something of a heated altercation during our last meeting, and I do not know the mind of one that I call kin. In the past this has been… _troublesome_. I would ask your counsel, Lord Doom, as you are Loki's friend and one who would know her best."  
  
For several heartbeats Doom said nothing. Then, "For as long as Doom has known the Trickster, no matter her form, Doom has known this: Loki does what is in the best interests of Loki. Beyond that, Doom would not pretend to know her true intentions. Loki may simply be distracted with some fanciful enterprise or another… or she may be plotting your death. Such is Loki."  
  
"I am her King." Baldur growled.  
  
The unseen smile was impossible to miss. "As is Doom."  
  
Heartbeats, and Baldur saw rounded breasts cupped by metal covered hands. Soft lips parted, above and below, passion dripping onto sheets. _My Lord_ , sighs escaped between sound whispers of advice. _My King._  
  
"You would dally about so, with one who was once a man?"  
  
"Doom does as he pleases, when the Lady doth not protest. Doom need not worry of harming such a one, as you would know." A spoken slap.  
  
Baldur pressed his lips together and turned back to the veranda and the rolling hills. "It has been weeks. I fear that when Loki returns it will be disastrous. Such is the testament of history."  
  
Doom huffed and whirled, green cloak billowing. "And yet, you do not consider the possibility of Loki _not_ returning. An oversight, I believe."  
  
"What do you…?" But the other monarch was gone, and Baldur was alone. Thor banished by law, Odin dead… and now Loki was missing. It was very nearly a physical ache, for no matter how much Baldur was praised he had not cultivated the relationships with his people that Thor had, that once did, and Midgard was strange and no love of his.

Asgard needed rebuilding. They could not remain guests of another forever; dependent on charity.  
  
Quirked lips, concealing eyes, voice like poisoned honey… Loki had never been much of a man, not by Asgard's high standards, but as a woman… dark of hair and bright of eyes, with skin like silk and a mind like a viper. As beautiful as she was treacherous.  
  
Baldur clenched a fist and felt the stone railing crack beneath it.   
  
They had not the shared childhood between them enjoyed by most Odinsons, but he would find his sister, and she _would_ cleave unto him. Only him.  
  
Baldur was a king and god. He was bright, and brave, and jealous.

* * *

"…let me first caution you, though, that no man or _god_ is of sufficient greatness to pierce the veil between essences without risk of retribution." The Norn Queen's voice, so often grating on his nerves, had changed with the cadence of conjuration. It had leveled out, the burrs of spiteful emotions smoothed away, and with every bubble of the cauldron it became to Loki that much clearer why Karnilla yet ruled.  
  
Loki Laufeyson stood at her side, and felt for a moment as if he was still a young boy learning campfire cantrips. "Retribution? From whom?" The idea was -almost- laughable. Had not Baldur pierced this veil, and in so doing carried back the knowledge he now taunted Loki with? Yet, was not his Mastery of Asgard proof of Baldur's insane falsehood? He was no mere god of Mischief and Misrule: _Loki Laufeyson_ was _Lord of Asgard_. It was his drive and his fire that made it so.  
  
"If I knew that, Lord of Asgard, I would be a very great sorceress indeed." Her smile was grim, and as she raised her arms in benediction to the Fates energy lanced through the room, building with every breath that fell from her lips. Lightning flashed into and out of existence, and the smoke like fog billowed from the cauldron as if it were a living thing, circling the room and searching for an escape.   
  
Loki smiled sardonically. _Pyrotechnics._ He had long progressed past the flash and awe of childhood pranks. This was something he could conjure in his sleep.  
  
"Behold, Lord Loki." Still calm and controlled, but peppered with strain, Karnilla announced as her magic made manifest.  Faint images of spark and shadow pulling their forms from the mystic fog that roiled from the cauldron. Her head tilted toward him, eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "You would see whether there exists others akin to you beyond this plane you now rule. Look well! For even now they stand before you-"  
  
"Indeed, we do." One of the shadows - _not shadows_ \- interrupted, and a jolt of fear -anticipation?- rushed through Loki as Karnilla's head whipped back to the mystic kettle and the high-heeled figure stepping from its lip like a noble from a carriage. Baldur had made claim of Loki being a woman, of giving birth to a _horse_ , to _Sleipnir_ , but he hadn't really considered… She was not him, and yet she was. Loki's walk, with Loki's not-smile quirk of lips, and wrapped in leather and silk and Loki's colors. She was not alone. Another Loki stood as her escort, tall and male and back unbowed with clear eyes carrying a certain peaceful viciousness whilst the long-lost _Gungnir_ waited patiently in his hands. A perfect fit compared to the adequate but far from preferred trident tipped pole-arm he currently used.   
  
The sight of them, whole and healthy and unscarred, soothed something Loki would never have admitted to existing. _He was not a Loki alone._ He had hope -even if only in himself- these two were the proof of that.   
  
Regally, the other Loki took the still stunned Karnilla's hand and brushed smooth lips over her knuckles. The Norn Queen, known for lusts that could only be sated by Baldur the Beautiful, blinked as pink tinged her cheeks. "I thank thee, Lady, for your most gracious invitation. I must confess the travel to reach this realm would have been far more difficult if you had not prepared the way."   
  
Implying his other-selves had already been seeking him out. What clever children… but of course, were they not _Loki?_

A slender hand on his own, and Loki shifted in aborted startlement as he was pulled from dusty daydreams. Waves of thick raven hair spilled over creamy skin, and Loki knew himself well enough to know that Loki was Loki but not entirely Loki, yet when she reached out tentatively, as if asking permission, and touched a hand to his cheek there was no derision in her gaze. And Loki knew what he looked like to her. The ravaging of time, and hate, and spite did not a kind visage make, but after a lifetime of being an after thought, a jester, a barely tolerated accident, what he found in her eyes was something he would do more than kill for. Her voice was a honeyed thing. "Hello, Loki."  
  
"Gaaaah!" A yelp, and from the clearing fog _another_ Loki spilled forth, landing unceremoniously on his backside whilst a magpie whirled above his head, mocking laughter echoing from its beak. The boy blinked at Loki and gave a child like, sheepish grin as he rubbed at his bottom. "Um, granddad! How goes life as a tyrannical dictator?"  
  
"Karnilla." Loki, Lord of Asgard, called as he turned to his once-ally. The other Loki-King, for he could be nothing else, was helping the child up and scolding him for lack of princely grace. The young woman he kept at his side where she would be safe. And where he could keep an eye on her. They _were_ Loki, after all. "Leave us."  
  
The Norn Queen's eyes shifted from Loki to Loki, took them all in, swallowed, and swept into a deep bow. "My… Lords."

* * *

Asgard. The third. It was so similar and yet, once again, so different. Closer in appearance to the city Luke remembered, not nearly enough rampant gold for the Asgard of his father, but it was… harder. Stone architecture, a bit more open, but also less… something. Forgiving, maybe? He wasn't sure. It certainly didn't _feel_ like a safe place, a welcoming place, even _his_ Asgard had a certain element of familiar comfort about it. This Asgard… decidedly not.  
  
But then, his Asgard had ~~his brother~~ Thor. The golden Asgard had Thor. This Asgard had civil war and… "No."  
  
"I can do as I please." Luke informed Ikol as he bit on an apple and wandered down the twisting, strangely empty halls. He'd only seen one servant since he'd broken off from Mom, Dad, and Old Man Him. "Beside, who is to stop me?"  
  
"Perhaps no one." Ikol conceded as he hopped on Luke's shoulder, flicking him with a flutter of wings. "And while I do not care a great deal for your heart, _child_ , I do not foresee a single future where this ends well."  
  
"Then why don't you leave and tell Mom? You two so love to gossip- ow!" The boy clapped a hand to his bitten ear and swatted at the dodging bird. He stomped down the stairs, firmly ignored the near-silent shadow grumbling its way behind him, and with a bit of talent that would have done his Serrure self proud slipped the keys from the drooping guard. Briefly, Luke considered mentioning the lack-luster quality of the jailers to his -possible- granddad.   
  
Briefly, he wondered what it would like to have a grandfather. He'd never met Bor, and he didn't know the name of his grand sire. But, then, he really didn't need to.  
  
Maybe Old Man Him would dress in red coats and white beards during the Midgardian winter and bring him toys to spoil his grandson rotten. Wasn't that what grandparents were supposed to do? Or was that Dad, and grandfathers were supposed to think of poor, entreating lies to explain the father's absence while the gift-bringer was there? So sayeth the internets.  
  
Luke had to stand on tip-toe to see through the slats in the door, and bit his lip as he took in the sight of one he might have called brother. He was on his knees, once vibrant hair hanging wet with blood over his face, covered in a hundred cuts and bruises. It hurt. This wasn't supposed to be Thor. This _couldn't_ be Thor. Even when Loki was at his worst-

The key clicked into place and Luke slipped in. "T-Thor? Are you, no, of course you aren't. I… oh… you've been in worse scrapes than this." Except that was _his_ Thor, and this was _this_ Thor. He fluttered closer, mind racing, plans whirling out in his mind. Mom would be mad, but Dad would understand, and grandpa… grandpa would understand once he calmed down. _No_ Loki would wish this on their Thor, no matter how bad things got, would they?  
  
He'd heard whispers upstairs… of execution… and had espied a stage being built from a window.  
  
Grandpa would regret it. He would. Luke was just going to prevent a mistake from being made. They couldn't ground him for that, could they?  
  
He ripped fabric from the bottom of his tunic, suddenly wishing he'd worn his hoodie and cargo pants of many pockets filled with many useful things. There was a bowl of water -though how Thor was expected to reach it was anyone's guess- which he wetted the fabric on and began cleaning cuts while examining the links in the chains. "Thor? Thor. You don't look too bad, no loss-of-limb at any rate, and I think I saw some healing stones upstairs…"  
  
Blue eyes opened and drifted over to him. There looked eerie through the curtain of hair, and oddly blank. Thor's weren't supposed to look like that. Thor was the god of the storm, of thunder a lightning, they _felt_. "Loki."  
  
"Yes!" This Thor was old, but his Thor had gotten old while Loki was little and- "Y-you're hurting me…"  
  
Thor's chains had barely clanked as a huge paw closed over his wrist, squeezing, and another slowly moved up stroking his throat before also starting to squeeze.   
  
"Did you think, brother, I would forget?" He couldn't breathe! He couldn't breathe and it was _his_ Thor all over again and he'd just wanted, he'd wanted to help! "I know not what _pathetic game_ you are trying to play, but you should have known better than to near those that have been cornered. But then, you've always over-estimated yourself."  
  
Why was ~~his brother~~ Thor saying this?   
  
He couldn't breathe.  
  
He couldn't breathe and his wrist-!  
  
Luke gasped in painful gulps of air as he was suddenly released, and delicate woman's hands pulled him back as the very-awake and very-frightened jailor bashed Thor over the head with what looked like a slowly warping branding iron. He turned his face into his unknown rescuers stomach, breathed in the light scent of perfumed lotions and bare skin, and sniffled as she gently took his aching, bruised wrist and wrapped it in a silk veil. "There now, sweet boy."  
  
Luke didn't look at Ikol, who stared at him from a table covered in the remains of another's dinner. He coughed when he tried to talk. "W-who are you?"  
  
She smiled absently and took his unhurt hand, guiding him from the dungeon. "I am Dai-ya. There… was a strange wind. I followed it, and it led me to you, child."  
  
Luke wouldn't ever tell _Ikol_ thank you, it would be like admitting he was right, but he would find some especially shiny jewels his little magpie heart would adore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, we are caught up with the Kinkmeme post! Beware of timeline twinks.
> 
> I usually work on this when my other fics are giving me trouble so it will be a while till the next update.

One at a time, Loki allowed the palace guards -disgraceful to the name as they were, Asgard's Once-King wondered who had permitted such weak-willed, poorly trained _sheep_ into the hallowed halls- to admit petitioners to the ancient War Room he'd claimed as his. Asgard's Throne, while impressive, was about as comfortable as a ribbed, stone dildo in a virgin ass. His Sister-Wife's hints on shape-shifting had proven fruitful, and the transformative magic was far more hardy and long-lasting than any bending of light Loki had used in the past. It was with ease Loki broadened his own shoulders, weathered his skin, crooked his teeth. To be him and not be him, scowling and spitting and shouting was… _liberating_.  
  
Fun.  
  
Children learned how to be adults through play, and he surely could use the practice. Loki's reign in Asgard had been a less than worthwhile experience. Loki's eyes flicked over rune-script reports, inwardly smirking but outwardly scowling as the frantic story of his elder-self's rebellion was spelled out from the loosing side. It had been a plan years in the making, alliances that had taken _decades_ of tending before bearing fruit, with maneuvers to isolate and dishearten a people that had been carefully, _tenderly_ led like lambs into a false sense of security; trusting that their great and mighty Thunderer would always be there to save them.  
  
How well Loki knew the feeling of one's beliefs, the foundation of everything one knew, crumbling.  
  
The only thing Loki could trust was Loki, but promises were promises, and there was no reason to slight the man-thing before him. The troll Lord burned Odin's treaties and lay a siege such that reinforcements hadn't be able to flank Loki's forces, while pinching supply lines in half… and he could just as easily turn again.  
  
Loki took a long drink of water disguised as wine. The Loki of this Asgard was a bit overt in his debaucheries, but then he _had_ earned it. "Ah, yes. The Lands formerly under the stewardship of Lord Freyr." Loki snapped his wrist, summoned a Contract, and swept his middle and pointer finger over the parchment. Once a King of Asgard, Always a King of Asgard… even when it is Another Asgard. Blood-bound runes with knife-edge sharpness carved themselves on the goat hide. "From the North Mountains to the westernmost crossing of the Ifing. Why do you look so surprised?"  
  
Warily, Kvasir accepted the penknife Loki proffered and read over the Contract. "This is more than I had been lead to expect, great King." A slight hesitation before he splitting his own considerably thick skin -he'd had to go for a soft bit under the finger nails- and making his mark. The Contract flared, wet red smoldering to completion, and Loki waved away the troll Lord dismissively.  
  
"You know me for a Trickster, _Lord_ Kvasir." The troll preened, oddly birdlike at the new, formal title. Loki gestured to his lips. "And as a trickster, my word is my bond. The _trick_ is getting me to give it."  
  
The other laughed, great booming echos around the room as he left.  
  
In the brief time he had to himself, Loki allowed a smile to grace his scarred lips. Oh, but he was having _fun_. And he hadn't even gotten to arrange any marriages yet!  
  
"Guard!"  
  
The wait time was truly deplorable.  
  
Looking around at the mess of battle plans and too-late communications it was little wonder Asgard had lost the war.

* * *

Concealed behind an illusion of absence, the raven haired beauty alternated between wondering why the old man wasn't dead yet, and wondering how he could have ever let himself sink so low. Was her other, older-self even certain the old fool _was_ Odin? The _real_ Odin, and not some simulacrum left in his place as he wandered off to his dalliances with the mortals, or elves, or some new species of giant?  
  
Lois observed broad, bare shoulders and chained hands. She stepped closer, freezing as a single gray-blue eye -the eye of a brewing storm- tracked her movement. Perhaps it _was_ Odin, then, but why would he let himself be captured as such? She decided to leave her spell in place and finished her step, relishing the tired gaze that trailed down her silk-wrapped body.  
  
"And who are you," Her once-father said. "To sneak about the chambers of the dispossessed King, no guards in tow? A Norn come to gloat, or perhaps some spirit seeking vengeance. A messenger of Hel? You've the curves…"  
  
Lois said nothing. She combed her hair with her fingers, mind wandering to hows and whys. Now that she was closer she could see the runes pulsing in the manacles. Unwillingly, she smiled. Chains meant to bind Loki's power, now used to bind Odin's?  
  
Her laughter was abruptly cut off by the hands that shot out to pull her close. One wrist was pinned in a callused palm, and there was a nose scenting her hair. She wriggled as Odin's beard tickled at her skin. "A vision with physical form is no vision… but lovely all the same."  
  
Her once-father's arm was like a bar at her back. He demanded -asked, but with the tone of a long-ruling king- her name, her purpose, and suckled at her neck as though she were some easily wooed maiden.  
  
History could be different in this place and time, certainly her older self was a thing made of hard, sharp edges rather than the slick, slippery silver of her own self. Lois trailed her fingers along the dipping neckline of her dress. "I, my Lord, am a Self-Made woman. Do you not recognize me? That… hurts. Here. Deep in my heart."  
  
High overhead, Huginn and Munnin wheeled in from the window. That one eye widened with wisdom as thoughts and memories clicked into place. "The Seer… _Loki_!"  
  
He thew her away like the most disgusting of filth, wine and fruit crashing from an overturned stand, and with a twist in the air Lois spun herself into a flock of starlings, laughter the song of birds.

* * *

Loki poked at the roasted pig with a fork, the golden apple in its mouth, and decided better. The courtier that had been offered up like a bleating lamb by the still-living advisers to the king poured a rather generous amount of wine into his cup. The poison was a bit too obvious, but the attempt was… cute.  
  
"There but remains the matter of the Rainbow Bridge." Watery eyes watched as Loki raised the glass to his scarred-seeming lips. "It remains unprotected and thus does Asgard, but there is no one fit to guard the bridge save Nobel Heimdall."  
  
Loki snorted, loudly, and drowned his goblet whilst casting a silent poison neutralization spell. Mother had taught he _and_ Thor that one, and hadn't allowed the Thunderer anything but water at feasts until he could get it right. The little man at his side winced, voice taking on a silver tone. It was _very_ cute, but Loki didn't need lessons in sucking eggs.

"Heimdall swears that were you release him he would perform that function and no other. His loyalty to Asgard itself, of course, and not to any faction."  
  
Loki thought to golden eyes and golden armor, and how it would be very easy to protect Asgard _from itself_. He sneered, slamming the cup down and reaching for sweet-cake. "Heimdall has a golden tongue along with those golden teeth. He is the traitor-whore Sif's brother and shares her afflictions. No, on the matter of the bridge my decision is final." The watery-eyed courtier looked directly at him for the first time in several hours. "Destroy it."  
  
"What?!" Oh, oh that _expression_. "My Lord, destroy the rainbow bridge! Are you-" He bit his own tongue. _Precious_.  
  
"Why not? Asgard is self sufficient, what need of we for traffic with other realms? So that traitors and rebels can gain allies? So that our enemies can arrive in force? I think not… and for Ymir's sake, man, call it by its proper name - _Bifrost_. That's the least you can do for it before blowing it up."  
  
One final, hesitant attempt came forward. "But, my Lord… such a thing has never been attempted. Can it even be done? There has always been a Rain- a Bifrost."  
  
Loki licked honey and pastry flakes from his own fingers, and smiled that special smile that caused the small man to step back. "Of course it can, I have seen it."

* * *

Loki sat upon Asgard's throne, mood darkening as the power inherit in Hlidskjalf woke at his touch. The kingship had changed hands and yet…  
  
Loki looked upon the realm, trident in hand, and listened to a thousand conversations. Farmers toiled in their fields, experience of ages having taught technique to repair broken shafts of wheat and diving what required replanting and what could be helped to harvest. There wouldn't be as many feasts this year, not if the warriors wanted to keep food in the pantry till next harvest, but Asgard would continue on just as dull, just as boring, just as _predictable_ as always.  
  
And while the small folk did little more than mark the day in their almanacs, the nobility either schemed toward furthering their own advancements -wringing opportunity from chaos- or whispered in dark corners about betraying the betrayer. But the boy, the king who wore his elder's skin, flitted and danced around ally and enemy alike as one who was born for the Game of Houses.  
  
An element of nostalgia echoed in his hollow chest, warmed by a spark of pride.  
  
The young King would grow tired of the games eventually, as Loki did, but until then…  
  
…and there was the youngest version of himself, the only one that could stomach the presence of their mother.  
  
Until today, Loki hadn't realized he'd _had_ a mother. In the abstract sense, yes, he'd known he hadn't burst fully formed from a stay bit of Laufey's seed sown into the dirt - but a _mother?_

"You look troubled, my Lord." Karnilla's concubine walked with measured steps, each sway of hips causing the silks to rustle along her skin like a tease. The Norn queen well knew Loki's tastes.  
  
"Nothing that concerns you, or your harpy Mistress." Immediately, Loki regretted his tone. The woman had done nothing to earn his ire. "Forgive me, I am indeed troubled, but unless you can run this insipid kingdom for me…?"  
  
"I am afraid that though I was taught many things, statecraft was not one of them." She circled around the throne, running a fingertip along the length of his weapon's shaft. "I know only service… and solace, my Lord. Shall I show you?"  
  
Why not? _Why not?_  
  
Why should the children get to have all the fun?  
  
Loki leaned back in the Throne, spreading his legs, smiling a wicked smile that was returned by the beauty before him. She knelt between his legs in a perverted mimicry of pledging fealty. Her firm, perky ass swayed promisingly while earth brown eyes filled with a bubbling mischief.

* * *

He didn't remember his mother. This was not his mother, and not Lois who was his Mom in all things that mattered, but there was still _something_ there. He wanted there to be something, but his throat clenched and his wrist throbbed in reminder of what want left behind.  
  
Behind the squashed, many-times broken nose and eyes rheumy with ages Luke _could_ see a pale imitation of himself. He'd never taken himself for a _blonde_ though: that honor had always gone to the golden prince.  
  
"Shh-shh-shh," She soothed in a voice that was dry and dusty, carefully taking his arm and rubbing a stinking ointment over the bruise Thor's hand had left. Immediately, the pain dimmed to a cool numbness. "There now, grandson. All better."  
  
Luke re-wrapped Dai-ya's veil. Farbauti. He hadn't even known her name, before, when all he knew was Laufey's fist. Vague memories of a woman wrapped in shawls and the absent comforting of _shh-shh-shh_ lurked at the edges of his rebirth-scrambled mind.  
  
"I'm not your grandson." He might as well be honest. "I'm… Loki."  
  
She smiled, a smile full of secrets that Luke recognized from the mirror, from Lois, from his King. "I know." He almost jerked away when she reached out to touch his face. "Not mine, but still _a_ Loki, I think. My Lord-Husband had never been very good with the magics… there is very little of him in you. I don't know how I feel about that."  
  
Neither did Luke.  
  
He squirmed in his seat, fiddled with his fingers, stared at the ceiling and everything but his… dam. He bit his lip. "Did you ever love us?"  
  
Farbauti's eyes sharpened as she leaned back, staring hard at some far off thing. "I never stopped loving you. I carried you -him- in my womb for three years. Unusually long, though not unheard off, for a son of jotunheim. We thought my child would be a giant among giants and then he was… not. But I could not carry him so long without that love. I could have induced, though there was risk to do so, but perhaps more risk to continue on in the middle of a war. I fought beside my Lord-Husband, I killed his enemies as I grew heavier and heavier.  
  
"And then I gave birth. Loki is born on a battlefield, small but clever, baptized by fire and the blood of his father and his father's enemies. Destiny's child. My child. The child I gave up, for I did not _speak_ up, when the sons of Asgard slew our sons and carried mine away…" Tears tracked her face like water through a desert. "I loved, and so said nothing. I thought it was better to be raised in the golden realm than the wasteland ours has become. With no father, no throne, my son would have been a target for frustrations. He'd be dead before his first name day. I loved him, so I let him go."  
  
Farbauti collapsed to her knees, and faster than Luke thought possible wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry, my child. I'm so, so sorry."  
  
Luke couldn't tell if was her tears or his own that trailed down his cheeks.

* * *

The morning sun rose for a new day in Asgard. City folk rose late to take advantage of the cessation of construction. Slowly, one by one they emerged from their homes, hearts and feet heavy, but instead of the gallows-stage they expected an artistic, arched doorway stood framing the path to the Rainbow Bridge.  
  
Heimdall's horn blew, though it was not the Gatekeeper that sounded it. Heads turned, and bodies gathered to see a procession exit from the castle. Chained yet, but in armor and rich cloaks cleaned of mud and blood. Heads held high and ready to face the guillotine; eyes rife with determined suspicion.  
  
A brave few offered cat calls while a brave fewer tossed fruit that burst upon impact of prisoner and guard alike. Shouts of _Child-thief_ and ' _murderers_ ' filled the air battling screams of _Thor_ and _Asgard's rightful king!_ until Gjallar's call cowed the crowds. Once Thor, hands bound to rune-worked Ash and dwarf-forged chains, and his ilk were arrayed along the steps of the dais the air above the stage rippled like water on a pond.  
  
Four people stood on the stage, and the resemblance was impossible. The Conqueror stood foremost and arrayed around him was a woman who's femininity beat even the Lady Sif's beauty, a child in Midgardian dress -his face concealed by his hood- with a bird on his shoulder. A young man in princely regalia whispered in the woman's ear, and she giggled.  
  
All Loki's children were banished, cursed, or dead - we're they not? Odin had made it so. Surely Odin, or Heimdall the Far-Seerer would have known if Loki had sired any more offspring?  
  
The Conqueror-King raised his trident and a hush fell.  
  
"People of Asgard! I would say it has been a pleasure, but it has not. Long you have scuttled about like insects, feasting on the dredges that the House of Odin throws like table scraps to dogs. I know. I was like you! I was one of those dogs! But I grew, and I saw Asgard for what it really is.  
  
"And as Asgard followed the lead of her king -the man that took me from my mother's arms and _dared_ claim the title of my father- deriding an orphaned child and heaping insult upon abuse all because of the words of an old, senile woman. No more!  
  
"No longer will we be slaves to fate! NO MORE!" The conqueror turned to the younger man, gesturing. "If you would, my son."  
  
The man's expression looked amused, then positively gleeful as the long-lost _Gungnir_ spun into existence in his hand. The Rainbow Bridge exploded in to sound and color, a roar that brought citizens to their knees. Particles of light rained down, tinkling as they hit pavement.  
  
And so the Reign of the Conqueror ended, for as he stepped through the doorway to nowhere the chains of his captives fell open to the ground, and Chaos Reigned in his place.

* * *

"So." Dai-ya asked the Lady, though she kept close to her Lord. Magic was not among her talents and she did not fancy walking off the path and becoming lost in the Nexus. It was rare that a concubine such as herself got to go on an adventure, but what else does one call travel to another World? "When is the baby due?"  
  
"Pardon?" Lady Lois responded too-quickly, gaze darting to the curious, hopeful eyes of her brother-lover.  
  
"My Lady, In my business I've been around enough expecting mothers to recognize one when I see her."  
  
Ikol cackled. "I _told_ you, you were getting fat!"  
  
Luke bounced on his toes. "I'm getting a _brother?_ "


	7. Chapter 7

Odin sat alone upon his throne, _Hliðskjálf_ , Asgard's symbol of power and authority which had seen ages pass and All-Father's come and go.  He was the latest in a long line of wise rulers stretching back into time memorial -Liar- and though he lacked the Spear that had been passed down from his father's father's father he yet held the High Seat.  
  
 _-An Empty, Cold Throne.  Never meant for one soul to bear the burden.  First designed for two._ \-    
  
He had an heir that was strong and beloved and whom the people would follow.  In time, Thor would become as wise and knowledgeable as himself - _Propaganda_ \- and the future of Asgard would be secure. - _Never secure, never safe, a ~~son, king~~ , prince could not be safe in peace what of war?_-  There had been some hiccups, true, but already his son was demonstrating the lessons of humility he had learned on Midgard.  He boasted little at feasts in favor of letting others shine, listened to the matters of court instead of slipping his advisers and tutors for the sparring ring.  
  
Thor had always been clever when he put his mind to it.  In another few years, after _Gungnir_ had been found and the thief brought to justice they would try the ceremony again.  The Weapon would be nothing but a bit of pretty metal in the Thief's hands - ~~ _But how had he gotten it in the first place? The walls of Asgard are unbreachable, Heimdall's sight unclouded_~~.- and useless to nearly all.  Those that might wield its power would not for fear of angering the Golden Realm and being cast from its protection.  
  
Thor would be king.  He would be a good king, a _great_ king.  When the time came he, like Odin, like Bor, and all those that came before them, would put down the Hammer and take up the Spear.  
  
 _-Lies.  He loves her too much.  He loves too much, like a mortal, bright and brief._ -  
  
 _Hliðskjálf_ was only half a crown, one useful in war and peace.  Odin sat upon it, the hard flat edges cold and unyielding, the power it bestowed casting his gaze throughout the realm as his two faithful constructs brought snatches of conversations and the echoes of whispers to his ears.  He looked, and he saw, but the BiFrost was yet broken.  And Jotunheim…  
  
Odin ignored weight in his chest that would only ease with tears.  He ignored the little voice of doubt that spoke with a child's voice, only it was a child warped by time and filled with mischief.  
  
Like the rest of the realms since the destruction of the Bridge, Nidavellir was in upheaval.  Unlike the rest of the realms it wasn't discontent, revel factions taking advantage of Asgard's hampered mobility in enforcing their treaties.  King Eitri, or rather what remained of Eitri, had been found dripping from the ceiling of Lord Sindri's antechamber.  - _He was still finding bits of Laufey in the cracks of his sleeping chamber._ -  Prince Brokkr had gone missing, not even a dribble of skin peeling from a wall, and his lack of presence or demands of retribution had been taken as a clear sign of guilt while Lord Ivaldi had seized power and his men and seized Sindri for conspiracy.  
  
The dwarven king had left no sons, no daughters, and with his brother labeled a traitor and kinslayer Lord Ivaldi refused to let Eitri's only nephew take the throne.  The line of succession was broken, for the first time in twenty generations.  
  
Frigga he loved, but they were both too old to try again.    
  
Thor **would** be King.  
  
Odin's eye searched the realms, found nothing he cared for, and sluggishly turned to the massive and near infinite expanse of the Void.  Instead of the corpse that he longed to retrieve, to bring home and keep safe - _confess before and ask understanding_ \- he found an armada moving in the Black.

* * *

  
"Salutations."  Luke called as he rubbed his hands together, shaking the rooftop gravel from his palms.  Ikol flew in wide circles overhead, riding the highs and lows of the air currents and keeping an eye on them both.  The rain had only stopped an hour ago and no matter where he perched Luke was bound to damp pants and dirty shorts.  He plopped down with a sigh and dangled his legs over the edge of the roof.  "Pete?"  
  
Repairs to Oscorp Tower were still ongoing, construction limited to the tiny scope of time between the regular end of the multinational conglomerate's office hours and the end of that of the company hired to do the repairs.  Loki suspected it was taking so long so as to garner sympathy with the public.  The longer the damage stayed the worse it would appear, and were not the men and women of the company brave to continue to work in such an environment?  
  
Peter, because Peter was only Spider-Man when his mask was on and the emptiness of his friend's expression was currently plain for anyone with a helicopter or a suicidal non-fear of heights to see, hunched further in on himself.  He was staring at the far building and the piles of shattered glass waiting for disposal.  
  
Luke leaned to the side, knocking shoulders while gesturing grandly to the damaged building.  "Giant corporation like that, I am fairly certain they were insured."  
  
Peter snorted, and pushed back.  "Of course they're insured.  Don't be stupid."    
  
Luke stomped down on the habitual need to retort.  He bit his tongue to silence it, wincing at the pain, and sat in companionable quiet watching Ikol fly about.  Of course Peter wouldn't care about the money.  Between insurance and lawsuits Oscorp had probably made money on the whole affair.  Bad press was still good press, and even if the majority of the population were disgusted and sick at the disastrous results of cross-species experimentation certain parties would pay quite a bit for even an incomplete formula; or just the research notes.    
  
It wasn't the collateral damage that was bothering Peter.  Buildings burned and bridges collapsed.    
  
But one could not fix a dead man with duck tape and spackle.  
  
(There were other things that might work.  Things, but Luke was not Thor and the dead man would still have died.  Mortals did not shake death as a god might.)  
  
Luke ducked his head, felt the wind rustle through his hair.  He wasn't the fighter that Dad or Mom were, and his magic skills while advanced for his age were yet limited by the capacity of youth but he could have done - something.  "I'm sorry.  I should have been there."  
  
Peter jerked his head up.  "What?  Why?  Luke, man, you didn't do anything."  
  
"That's the problem!"  He could have served as a distraction at the least, or acted as a fleshy shield though he wasn't entirely certain how well he would do against claws.  "You're my friend and I… I wasn't here when you needed me."  
  
"You couldn't have predicted a well known and respected genetics was going to turn into a giant lizard."  
  
"You got _shot_.  By _cops._ "  Immediately Luke wanted to take back the words.  Instead his mouth kept moving, a shovel that was digging his own grave.  "You shouldn't have had to do it alone."  
  
"I wasn't alone."  Peter's arm swung around clasping him in a side hug, and the sudden strength in the hold almost hurt.  The vigilante's voice was low, his head nuzzling -shaking denial- into the heavy material of Luke's hooded sweatshirt.  "People will get hurt.  You're gonna make enemies.  People will get hurt… Captain Stacy died telling me that.  
  
"I don't want you to get hurt, Lou.  I don't want… but I promised.  I _promised_."

* * *

  
It was an odd feeling to once again be in the place of his memories.  They were not his happiest moments -those were far distant indeed, and made his heart now ache and his fists clench to think about- but Midgard had always promised entertainment if nothing else.  There were even a few eras inhabited by a handful of mortals that Loki would consider not friends, not exactly -Loki did not, could not afford friends- but well thought of acquaintances.  Wards and lovers and a sprinkling of children and grandchildren echoed down throughout the ages.  
  
(He pondered why he could not feel those sprinklings of his blood now - always they had shone like black slivers in the light, but his young King - _his_ \- did seem more devoted than most Loki.  Less free with himself, restrained with a false maturity.)  
  
Loki was still Loki, with the memory of a god, and this new World was like looking at an old watercolor.  Everything was the same yet different from his memories, little things and big things, slightly fuzzy around the edges.  Of course, there had been so little worth his notice back then, he preferred people and politics to things, and on that front everything was as expected.  Captain America's rebirth garnered that infinitesimal something, and triggered the beginning of Midgard's age of Marvels.  
  
The Fantastic Fools were about, paying too much attention to the trees and not near enough to the forest, and Loki smiled into his wine as he considered Victor's reaction if he had known his old Ally would seek shelter in the shadow of his rival…  
  
He hadn't thought about Victor in nigh two thousand years….  
  
The knocking slide of beads -his woman pushing aside the curtain of glass that separated his bed chamber from the other rooms- and Dai-Ya stalked into the room with a pleased twist to her lips.  Midgardian garb suited her, he thought, though she had chosen a style that was a bit behind the times.  
  
His new, old daughter was likely behind the clothing choice.  He could not say he disapproved of the far more subtle seduction she now exuded.  
  
"And how did your mission go?"  
  
"Quite well, my Lord."  The dark leather of the cincher hugged her waist, gathering the draping folds of green silk to hide the smooth, pale expanse of her breasts.  When she leaned forward to crawl into his lap gravity played with those drapes, and the peak of her nipples flashed at him.  For one used to wearing little more than a loincloth, Dai-Ya maneuvered her voluminous skirts like a true lady, but what she did with her tongue was anything but.  "The residents of the floor above us have agreed sell us their lease for a nominal fee.  Though from what I overheard the Richard's have been having similar ideas.  With the entire building.  One too many attacks, or experiments gone awry,  and the attendant neighbor complaints."  
  
Loki kissed her, dug his weathered hands under her skirts and massaged her buttocks.    
  
As the little one would say: Fuck Asgard.  Fuck the AllFather.  Fuck being King.  He should have been doing this years ago.  
  
(There were still one or two things that Asgard had of worth, that they would need access to, but if his plans came to _fruition_ theirs would be a kingdom beholden to no one and nothing.)    

* * *

  
The littlest Loki hid by the entryway, shifting from foot to foot, locked in silent debate.  He could hear the low commentary of the newscasters, the rustle of glossy magazine papers and the gutter of flame.  Bacon and sausage and all good things that made his mouth water.  Fresh bread sliced and toasted, smothered in honey and butter, fruit that had been delivered yesterday along with, strangely, seeds.  
  
He should go in, and ask - OR, better yet, not.  He was yet a Loki, and Loki's did not ask permission to do a thing.  They simply did it and handled the consequences as they came.  He should strike while the iron was hot, and deal with the sparks, for he could not imagine some punishment so terrible.  
  
The ghost fingers on his throat were too large, too thick, to be a fathers, or even grandfathers.  The angry voice in his ears too deep and not nearly as scratchy.  
  
He knew enough of illusion and suggestion that none of the mortals would even think to ask...  
  
Lokitty, wet and trailing soap suds ran at his ankles with claws extended.  He had only a second of abject horror before yelping as a his leg was once again turned into a ladder of bloody dots.  Choice taken from him, Luke hopped into room, arms wheeling as he desperately tried to shake the enraged, fearful cat.    
  
"OFF!  Bad cat!  GET OFF!"  
  
Lokitty yowled, a screech that grated and threatened to turn his brain to pudding.  Oh, what he would have given for a Thori, though the hell pup probably would have only made the situation worse.  
  
(Loki wondered who, if anyone, was feeding the beast.  
  
He carefully did not consider the high likely hood of the foul-mouthed creature being put down, forever.  He very carefully did not think of his pet, his reluctant friend, being chained and stabled somewhere dark and lonely till Asgard had need of him.  
  
He had been a good dog.  Foul mouthed, and fouler breathed, but a good dog.)  
  
"Sweetness?"    
  
Luke offered his parents his best smile, all teeth and squinted eyes as he made new plans and altered others.  He could have hid his thoughts better but for the cat he held away from him, wet and wriggling as it desperately tried to make for the shelter of his front pouch.  "My greetings on this fine morn, Mother.  Father."    
  
Father nodded, his own lips twisting in amusement at Luke's plight.  Mom pushed away from the fine cherry-stained table, brushing a mixture of illusionary blueprints and Stark-Derived interactive holograms with a wave of her hand.  The laptop she worked from was StarkTech, obviously, but was of a more military flavor designed to survive nothing less than a nuclear explosion.    
  
"I see someone escaped his bath."  
  
Luke handed the beast-self over, nose wrinkling.  "I had been lead to believe cats bathed themselves."  
  
"I thought I saw some… dandruff."  Lois swept her hand along Lokitty's back, a trail of dried and fluffed fur in her wake and she examined the feline with a critical eye.  It glared at her, a pathetic meow of sadness and betrayal in the call.  "Fascinating.  It seems even the least of us has some modicum of talent to be able to bypass the cleansing spells."  
  
"Oh."  Luke used the foot of his uninjured leg to rub at the stinging cuts left by the family cat.   Mom wiggled her fingers at him, an absent minded sort of gesture as she picked through Lokitty's fur, and a gust of warm wind gently groomed him.  Soft, thin fingers of air carded his hair and tickled behind his ear.  He peeked at his King, his dad, and shuffled once more in place.  Perhaps if he coached the proposal as part of a scheme…  
  
"Loki, father?"  Loki turned from the television and the pictures of broken things.  Morning, yet dressed impeccably as was his want with a long coat resting on the back of the chair.  Mom called Luke sweetness, and he could be teeth-achingly sweet.  He perched with his elbows on the arm of the overstuffed chair, an easy smile in place.  "May I ask a favor of you?"  
  
"You may always ask, never be afraid to ask.  I simply may not grant it."    
  
Ask.  Easy.  Simple.  Terrifying.  "I want to go to school.  Midtown Science."  
  
 _"…why?"_   Both Loki and Lois appeared genuinely confused, and Luke could not blame them.  
  
"Mortal schools are limited."  Lois spoke in a confused, annoyed tone.  Luke was almost certain the annoyance wasn't with him, however.  "Their curriculum are out of date.  Their teaching methods generic and trite.  Are you bored, are my lessons not enough?  We can get you more advanced books if you like."  
  
"Tutors would simple to arrange."  Loki offered, and instead of angry or annoyed as Luke expected at the idea of a mortal school there was a gleam of… uncertainty?  Hurt?  "Specialists in any area, I have several contacts and if you prefer an apprenticeship?  Amora has always-"  
  
"No!"  Luke felt rather than saw Loki stiffen at the shout, and regretted the word.  He tilted forward, pressed his forehead into his father's deltoid, breathing loudly in and out.  "It is nothing like that, Dad.  I enjoy my self-study, you and mother and Ikol, and now grandfather too, sometimes, have been wonderful.  It is simply… I have a friend at Midtown and I thought…"  
  
"You want to spend more time with your friend.  A mortal, I presume?"  The other's voice was blank, empty of any sign of emotion, but as Luke had been quickly coming to learn that was in itself a sign.  He shook his head, still pressing into his father and keeping the contact between them so he would know.    
  
" _A friend_."    
  
"Friends."  Father's voice was soft, almost a whisper.  The sound of Lois' feet padding across the carpet to the other room was loud in the silence.  "Alright. Yes.  If you, if you like.  Friends."

* * *

  
There were lizard-men in New York.  
  
After traveling through various realities young and old, Lois hadn't thought there was anything left to could truly surprise her - she was a _god_.  She'd been near death and danced over the line many a time.  She had woven her own fate.  An expert sorceress, the most skilled shape shifter and skinchanger in nine realms (she might guess more, but other Loki's deserved their due she was sure) and yet she had allowed herself to become complacent in this fresh budded world where magicians were thin and science in still primitive stages.  
  
There were lizard-men in Manhattan, and SHIELD agents in Brooklyn.  Both only a stone throw away from her own home, and if the winds had been blowing just so… Odin had not regrown his eye, nor Tyr his hand.  
  
The Lady prowled the lower levels of the disguised government building.  The heels of her boots coming down with quick, irritated thuds.  She had already cursed her own stupidity from her last venture to the Agency's territory: the Hawk had seen her true face -as true as a face she now had- and the Tesseract had been moved in act of unusually wise precaution.  With the developing fetus inside her she couldn't risk a physical changing of shape, and her illusion overlays were flimsy things anyone with a modicum of training could see through.    
  
Strange, to think she was with child and had not been aware.  Always, _always_ in the past the very moment of conception had lit a warm fire in her belly and she had known of the new life, new magic, growing inside her.  But, Lois thought, she had been jotnar then.  Were Aesir women so different, or had it simply a property of Loki?  And if she couldn't know when the child first began to form how was she to determine the sire?  
  
Lois held her magictech'd StarkBook to her stomach, subconsciously using the device as a shield for her child as two Agents in lab-coats walked by, bickering.  It didn't matter who the body-father was, this was a child no Odin would take from her, or turn from her, and it would be safe.  
  
(Baldur and Victor were the most likely candidates.  She verily hoped that it was not Osborn.  The man's whole line was unstable, some mores than others, but they had only coupled the once.  A slimmer chance the babe was the blood-son of her King and a Loki twice over, but Dai-Ya seemed convinced the pregnancy was too far along for that.)  
  
The Lady Trickster glanced down at her screen and the map displayed; in her haste she had not taken the usual scouting measures and the building was alarmingly close to home. Safely alone in the not quiet, the ever-present hum of machines sleeping just beyond the door, and with a stripped and enchanted credit card she once again bypassed the ever-so-secure electronic locks and entered the hub of SHIELD's backup servers.    
  
Banks of machines cooled by blue-tinted, circulating liquid filled the room.  With each step the lights overhead gradually flicked like sentries waking from long slumber.  Lois could see a thin layer of dust covering everything, a sharp contrast to the spotless, state of the art interior displayed by the rest of the base, and in the center of the room a group of plywood desks sat like forlorn little lambs abandoned in the wake of automation.  
  
She blew on a chair to clean it, dust devils vanishing the wake of a simple household cleansing spell, and sat down with a squeak.  The monitor flashed on, asking for usernames and passwords, and Lois reached down for the tower and felt around for the USB port.  
  
There were lizard men in Manhattan, in her town, and they were infecting the air.      
  
Even gods had to breathe, eventually.  
  
Oscorp may have scrubbed their own files and destroyed valuable specimens in their short-sighted effort at sweeping away lawsuits, but SHIELD was not beholden to stock holders or civilian scrutiny.  Lois tapped her lacquered nails along the desk and bristled at the irritating, irksome message prompts.  SHIELD may have kept knowledge it had no right to, but it also guarded that knowledge with a level of repetitiveness that firmly stepped over the line of paranoia.  
  
With a metallic squeal a vent grate gave way, and the trickster goddess stood, whirling, hands aglow with eldritch energies as she surveyed the area with a suspicious confusion.  
  
"Eyes up, Miss."  Following the voice, Lois glanced up to see a familiar face dangling upside down from the venting.  A shaft tipped with a needle rather than a arrowhead was pointed at her chest, and following the line she could see a liquid filled vial nestled between clear, stiff fletching.  "You look different, Fury's going into seizures over the little 'fuck you' to his fancy programs, but you walk the same."  
  
Lois smiled, arms raised in surrender as the green fire dimmed to embers that coalesce in her palms.  Behind her, the monitor ran into _yet another prompt_ , halting the download and asking for… her measurements?  Lois felt her cheeks heat and she knew she was being mocked.  
  
"Miss…"  The Hawk trailed off in warning.    
  
"That is not a lethal load."  She smiled to cover her irritation and took a slight step closer to the USB port where her little magic-aided program was fighting with the person or persons unknown stopping her from taking what she wanted.  "The threat is… somewhat less."  
  
He shrugged, and Lois wondered how long he could, would hang there with his legs hooked over the edge.  It was strange, and strangely alluring.  "That was a pretty cool trick you pulled back at PEGASUS; Boss-man wants you brought in.  Door's been bolted, teams lining the hallway.  It's your play, Miss."  
  
"For an interrogation, or…?" Lois felt her stomach twist, as if the little life within was as unhappy with the turn of events as she was.  It sounded as if they knew, but the other incarnations of SHIELD were excellent liars and spies and bluff masters,  and if they didn't… "  
  
She would not be chased from her home.  Not _again._


End file.
